Attempted Suicide- Chapter #1: Suicide Hobby

A young man being treated at a mental institution is desperately looking for a way to end his life. After countless failed attempts, will he finally succeed or will his plans be put on hold?

Submitted: August 06, 2008

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Submitted: August 06, 2008

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I once heard that drowning was oddly one of the most peaceful ways to go. The first lungful of water was excruciatingly painful but after the struggle, your body goes into a state of complete
nirvana. That sounded great to me, but seeing that I was locked up in a suicide-safe cell within Western Hospital for the mentally insane; the air-filled hypodermic needle would have to do.
This surely wasn’t my first attempt to end my meaningless life. The first was a bottle-full of 500 milligram Hydrocdone. That ended with a visit from the ambulance and a thorough stomach pumping. I
once fashioned up an extension chord as a makeshift noose. Conveniently my father had forgotten some important paperwork on his way out to work which foiled my plans just before I lost
consciousness. After about the twelfth incident I lost count. According to my family the only way to make things “better” was to send me here. “Treatment Facility” was the nicer way of referring to
the loony bin.
The doctors call it depression but I like to refer to it as a fucked up brain. I had no excuse to feel this way. My mother hadn’t left me as a young child, occasional spankings from dad can hardly
be considered abuse, and I am almost positive I had never been molested by my Junior High PE teacher. I suppose I simply decided to make attempted suicide a hobby.
So there I was, grasping a syringe in one hand and searching for an easily accessible vein with the other. There was obviously no mirror present in the room but a newly washed window did just fine.
In the midst of locating a perfect bulge for the job, something distracted my eyes outside. A motionless individual stood directly under my cell window. She appeared to be staring straight at me,
but there were hundreds of other windows on the North wing. The chances that I was her target of view were slim.
The sound of footsteps approaching in the hallway re-directed my attention. I could try to follow through with my suicide, but would the nurse arrive before I finished? I was not willing to take
the chance of loosing the tool that could be my last hope of ending my life. I immediately stuffed the needle into an almost unnoticeable crack in the floor tile. True to my instinct, one of my
many Psychologists entered and began a routine evaluation. Throughout the lengthy session of questions, all I could keep racing through my mind was the encounter I had with this mysterious woman
outside my window.
Later that evening, before sleep, I laid in bed debating whether or not to re-attempt my plans. This had never happened before! Normally there would be no debate on this topic. Suicide was my only
goal before this night. The sleeping tranquilizer I had been force fed was already kicking in so I promised myself I would finish the job tomorrow during my rewarded solitary hour. Who was this
anonymous person outside my window? Did she in fact look at me? If so why did she take any interest in me? I’m just mental patient 2340 to everyone else. Questions circled my interest as my heavy
lids lowered.